LITTLE  GRAY  SONGS 
FROM  ST.  JOSEPH'S 


MC-MRLF 


533 


LITTLE  GRAY  SONGS 
FROM   ST.  JOSEPH'S 


LITTLE   GRAY   SONGS 
FROM    ST.  JOSEPH'S 

BY 
GRACE    FALLOW   NORTON 


BOSTON   AND    NEW    YORK 
HOUGHTON    MIFFLIN    COMPANY 

CCbe  Hitersibe  press  Cambti&oe 
1912 


COPYRIGHT,   1912,   BY   GRACE   FALLOW  NORTON 
ALL  RIGHTS   RESERVED 

Published  February  iqi2 


To  H.  DE  F. 


255990 


"Une  odeur  d*  ether  un  jour  de  soleil" 


In  the  winter  of  1 903,  a  cold  night  and  a  colder 
dawning  sent  girls  shivering  to  their  work  in 
the  factories  of  an  American  town.  Among 
them  Leonie  X  .  .  .  ,  the  still  girl  who  never 
told  her  name.  She,  frail  as  she  was  and  weary, 
slipped  upon  the  icy  pavement  and  fell.  The 
hurt  proving  dire,  she  was  carried  to  a  small 
Franciscan  hospital  hard  by,  where  she  lay  for 
two  years  —  true  to  herself —  saying  little  with 
her  lips  and  much  with  her  mournful  eyes. 

Here  she  wrote  many  "  little  letters  to  her 
self,"  which  were  hidden  beneath  her  pillow 
and  which  the  good  Sister  Jerome,  who  was 
her  sole  nurse,  lovingly  preserved  after  her 
death. 


CONTENTS 

Flame  beaten  to  ash  xv 

I.   Here  I  lie  like  a  princess  i 

II.   Sister  Jerome  is  very  tired  and  she  must 

sleep  3 

III.  There  be  some  that  seaward  roam  4 

IV.  Last  night  I  had  a  guest  7 
V.   When  I  was  a  wee  child  8 

VI.   If  my  dark  grandam  had  but  known  i  o 

VII.   Because  white  hands  clasped  white  hands       1 1 

VIII.    O  't  was  not  they  through  whom  I  breathed      1 3 

IX.   What  shall  repay  for  waste  of  life  1 5 

X.    A  great  Injustice  walks  abroad  16 

XI.   And  sometimes  I  have  little  dreams  17 

XII.   O  sweetest  dreams,  I  reach  to  you  20 

XIII.   The  Sisters  sing,  "O  Mary  hear  21 


xii  CONTENTS 


XIV.    Mary,  Mother  of  Christ's  body  22 

XV.    How  long  I  've  lain  below  the  Christ  24 

XVI.    Four  gray  walls,  four  gray  walls  25 

XVII.   Sister  Jerome,  Sister  Jerome  26 

XVIII.   The  halls  are  full  of  strangers  29 

XIX.   This  house  of  pain  where  we  must  dwell  3  o 

XX.   Nay,  we  are  loads  for  them  to  lift  32 

XXI.   The  Sister  for  her  soul's  white  sake  33 

XXII.   I  hear  our  Doctor's  hard  step  by  my 

door  3  5 

XXIII.  There  is  a  desert  of  despair  37 

XXIV.  Best  I  love  Sister  Jerome  38 
XXV.   O  that  it  might  be  soon  40 

XXVI.   O  far  away,  O  far  away  41 
XXVII.   What  say  43 
XXVIII.   I  would  I  might  behold  45 
XXIX.   From  the  world  beyond  my  window- 
blind  46 


CONTENTS  xiii 

XXX.   With  cassock  black,  baret  and  book  48 

XXXI.   Bidden  to  lay  my  hands  in  Griefs  50 

XXXII.   They  who  this  age  of  Pain  have  trod  5 1 

XXXIII.  O  great  Allayer  of  our  pain  52 

XXXIV.  That  day  whereon  I  die  they'll  say  53 
XXXV.   Little  Sister  Rose-Marie  54 

XXXVI.    My  life  was  too  short  for  sinning  55 
XXXVII.    O  the  burden,    the  burden   of  love 

ungiven  5  7 

XXXVIII.   This  morn  I  cried:  «  Now  I  will  live  58 
XXXIX.   The    Sister  wears    a    long    straight 

gown  59 

XL.    Friend,  thy  page  says  "Pleasure"  61 

XLI.   I  wondered,  ever  wondered  62, 
XLII.   O  I  have  made  for  myself  one  whole 

happy  day  63 

XLIII.    My  dearest,  fairest  hope  67 

XLIV.   I  am  all  alone  in  my  little  room  68 


xiv  CONTENTS 

XLV.    O  Jesu,  how  my  soul  goes  forth  70 
XLVI.   Came  one  who  told  of  Death's  white 

steeds  71 

XLVII.    My  little  soul  I  never  saw  72 

XL VIII.   But  if  my  star  of  joy  should  call  74 

XLIX.   Out  of  my  little  prison-cell  75 

O  star  of  joy  78 


Flame  beaten  to  ash  by  the  too-fierce  wind  of  a 

day  ; 
Flower  torn  at  the  roots,  ere  noon-tide  drooping, 

gray  ; 

Flower  of  a  singing  soul,  laughing  flame  of  a 

life- 
But  the  laughter  and  song,  where  are  they  ?  Lost 

in  that  sore  wind-strife. 

Pray  to  the  souls  of  men,  ere  the  new  day  rises 

in  power, 
Pray  to  the  souls  of  men  :  "  Forget  not  the  fame 

and  the  flower" 


LITTLE  GRAY  SONGS 
FROM    ST.   JOSEPH'S 

i 

Here  I  lie  like  a  princess — 

All  wound  in  white; 
Lilies  tall  at  my  bedside, 

For  my  delight ; 

Hushed  feet  make  in  my  chamber 

Music  for  me  : 
Silence  answers  with  phrases 

Of  her  minstrelsy. 

Who  could  be  fairer  than  I  am, 

All  wound  in  white  ? 
Who  could  be  gladder  of  beauty, 

And  beauty's  delight  ? 


LITTLE    GRAY   SONGS 

O  for  the  whiteness  and  fairness 

But  O,  to  be  free ! 
Pain  has  the  key  to  my  chamber : 

He  prisons  me. 


FROM    ST.   JOSEPH'S 


II 

Sister  Jerome  is  very  tired  and  she  must  sleep  ; 

There  is  no  other  guard  to  keep, 
And  so  the  night  must  be  watched  through 
with  pain  — 

Ah  me,  my  sentinel  again. 

The  pain  is  like  a  little  flame  within  the 
night, 

A  bright  white  sword,  from  it  no  flight  .  .  . 
Slow  hours,  unrolling  dully,  endlessly, 

O  say,  when  will  to-morrow  be? 

In  an  eternity  of  dark  and  stillness  strange, 
Around  and  'round  with  pain  I  range, 

Remembering  nothing  fair.   .   .   .  There  is  no 

way, 
There  is  no  path  unto  the  day. 


4  LITTLE    GRAY    SONGS 

III 

There  be  some  that  seaward  roam, 
Adventurers  of  mere  and  main  ; 

They  watch  the  wave,  follow  the  foam. 

There  be  those  that  hunt  at  home, 
Adventurers  of  pain. 

There  be  those  that  leave  the  vale, 

And  from  the  hearth-stone  turn  away, 
Heart-homeless  if  their  footsteps  fail 
Some  houseless  snowy  height  to  scale, 
Ere  light  dies  with  the  day. 

There  be  some  would  know  the  North, 

And  some  would  plant  the  desert-place: 
Daily  their  feet  are  driven  forth, 
Their  hands  have  measured  the  round  earth 
Adventurers  of  space. 


FROM    ST.   JOSEPH'S 


And  they  that  hunt  at  home  —  that  lie 

Unhelped,  alas,  of  near  and  far  ? 
O  gulfs  as  great  gather  their  cry, 
And  hosts  as  fair  their  victory  — 
The  seekers  of  the  Star. 

To  leap  to  some  sharp  peak  of  pain, 

To    scream    white-mouth'd    upon    those 

heights, 

Transported  by  a  truth  made  plain  — 
From  mad  despair  to  wrest  the  rein  — 
To  delve  in  breathless  nights 

As  they  were  mines  of  gold  for  men  — 

Bravely  to  launch  on  each  new  day 
A  hope,  wave-racked  and  wrecked  again  — 
To  conquer  through  the  fever-fen  — 
Toward  Death  to  lead  the  way. 


LITTLE    GRAY   SONGS 

O,  there  be  some  that  seaward  roam, 
Adventurers  of  mere  and  main ; 

They  watch  the  wave,  follow  the  foam. 

There  be  those  that  hunt  at  home, 
Adventurers  of  pain. 


FROM    ST.   JOSEPH'S 


IV 

Last  night  I  had  a  guest : 

Terror  visited  me. 
To-day  I  lie  dumb  —  at  rest 

After  my  agony. 

Where  should  he  have  his  home, 
That  he  be  nigh  to  hunt  me  ? 

Who  are  they  naming  his  name  ? 
Live  they  morn's  light  to  see  ? 

Grief  and  pain  I  have  known  ; 

Now  I  am  learning  three. 
Thou  wast  lacking  —  Terror  —  alone, 

Of  the  grim  Trinity. 

Last  night  I  had  a  guest: 

Terror  visited  me. 
To-day  I  lie  dumb  —  at  rest 

After  my  agony. 


LITTLE    GRAY   SONGS 

V 

When  I  was  a  wee  child 

A-singing  in  the  sun, 
Came  the  knell,  like  a  leper's  bell, 

Of  the  Fateful  One. 

In  his  mouth  was  hunger, 

In  his  hand  was  want ; 
There  I  shook  beneath  his  look, 

Bled  beneath  his  vaunt : 

u  I  am  lord  of  bodies, 

I  am  lord  of  souls  ; 
I  am  lord  of  half  the  horde 
That  die  between  the  poles. 

"  I  laugh  at  all  the  teachers 

That  have  not  taught  of  me. 
I  make  the  rules  for  all  their  schools- 
My  name  is  Poverty. 


FROM   ST.    JOSEPH'S 


"  I  laugh  at  all  the  nations 

That  have  no  thought  of  me: 
For  still  their  laws  of  me  are  cause 
My  name  is  Poverty." 

When  I  was  a  wee  child, 

A-singing  in  the  sun, 
Came  a  knell,  like  a  leper's  bell : 

'T  was  the  Fateful  One. 


io         LITTLE   GRAY   SONGS 

VI 

If  my  dark  grandam  had  but  known, 

Or  yet  my  wild  grandsir, 
Or  the  lord  that  lured  the  maid  away 

That  was  my  sad  mother, 

O  had  they  known,  O  had  they  dreamed 

What  gift  it  was  they  gave, 
Would  they  have  stayed  their  wild,  wild  love, 

Nor  made  my  years  their  slave? 

Must  they  have  stopped  their  hungry  lips 

From  love  at  thought  of  me  ? 
O  life,  O  life,  how  may  we  learn 

Thy  strangest  mystery  ? 

Nay,  they  knew  not,  as  we  scarce  know; 

Their  souls,  O  let  them  rest ; 
My  life  is  pupil  unto  pain  — 

With  him  I  make  my  quest. 


FROM    ST.    JOSEPH'S  n 

VII 

Because  white  hands  clasped  white  hands, 
And  white  arms  wound  white  arms, 

I  'm  wandering  through  the  wide  world, 
Driven  by  those  same  heart-storms. 

Because  white  arms  wound  white  arms 
Must  mine  hang  quivering,  bare, 

All  fain  to  reach  and  clasp  again 
White  arms  again  as  fair. 

Did  they  that  clasped  desire  me  ? 

0  no,  't  was  heart  on  heart, 

JT  was  lip  to  lip  and  life  for  life  — 
Now  living  is  my  part. 

Did  they  that  loved  stand  awed  at 

My  masked  inheritance  ? 
They  laughed  and  called  the  echo  .  .  . 

1  am  a  child  of  chance. 


12         LITTLE    GRAY    SONGS 

Children  of  chance  we  wander, 
Possessed  by  those  who  gave 

The  undesired,  unthought,  unsought  — 
The  life  that  we  must  save. 

They  asked  for  one  another : 
Blind  Nature  grimly  hurled 

A  soul  out  through  their  gates  of  love, 
To  walk  their  weary  world. 


FROM   ST.   JOSEPH'S  13 

VIII 

0  't  was  not  they  through  whom  I  breathed 
That  laid  alone  the  spell ; 

Behold  the  people  of  our  land 
Live  but  to  buy  and  sell. 

To  buy  and  sell  —  they  call  it  life; 
But  I  had  gifts  to  give  ; 

1  said,  "  O  let  me  give  my  gifts, 

Thus  only  may  I  live." 

But  I  must  sell  my  gift  of  gifts, 

And  I  must  buy  again, 
And  fierce  is  traffic,  fierce  as  war, 

And  numbers  too  its  slain. 

I  had  so  much  to  give  to  life, 

But  when  my  gift  was  sold, 
Came  those  who  measured  my  heart's  blood 

Into  their  cups  of  gold. 


i4         LITTLE    GRAY    SONGS 

They  trade  in  life ;  we  that  would  live 
Fall  Death's  heirs  in  that  strife. 

O  what  is  there  they  buy  or  build 
So  dear  as  would  be  —  life? 


FROM    ST.   JOSEPH'S  15 

IX 

What  shall  repay  for  waste  of  life  ? 

What  shall  repay  for  pain  ? 
O  what  shall  give  the  land  its  food 

If  the  young  wheat  have  no  rain  ? 
How  shall  the  reaper  call  it  good, 

If  trampled  it  hath  lain  ? 

O  what  shall  give  the  land  its  men 

If  children  fight  its  wars, 
If  youth  to  the  market-place  they  bring, 

And  man  his  manhood  mars 
To  give  some  king  a  golden  ring, 

Or  his  lords  their  gilded  stars  ? 


16         LITTLE    GRAY   SONGS 


A  great  Injustice  walks  abroad, 

Unchained,  unterrified. 

Who  shall  rejoice  beside 
The  poison  of  his  dragon-breath, 
The  early  blight,  the  daily  death, 

(Behold,  thus  have  I  died). 

A  great  Injustice  walks  abroad, 

And  makes  the  strong  more  strong, 
Until  the  hurt,  whose  song 
I  sing,  shall  learn  their  hidden  strength, 
And  healed  by  hope,  arise  at  length, 
And  rend  the  ancient  wrong. 


FROM    ST.   JOSEPH'S  17 

XI 

And  sometimes  I  have  little  dreams, 
Faint  and  fair  and  far  away ; 
With  them  I  play. 

0  dare  I  tell 

Of  the  ones  I  love  well  ? 

1  love  most  the  unreal, 
The  never-to-be. 
They  cry  to  me, 

"Little  sister,  can  you  not  feel 
How  it  is  with  us  — 
Wandering,  squandering  thus 
All  our  sweet  beauty, 
And,  never,  never  to  be  ? " 

O  yes,  I  best  can  feel 

You,  the  unreal, 

For  you  are  —  me  ! 

Me,  and  all  that  I  may  not  be. 


i8         LITTLE    GRAY   SONGS 

Strong  I  am  and  straight  and  fair, 
Strong  and  long  and  gold  my  hair, 

(This  doth  but  seem, 

It  is  my  dream). 
And  I  dance 

(I  who  may  not  turn 

So  for  motion  yearn) ; 
I  advance 

And  slowly  whirl  till  all 
The  things  on  round  earth's  ball 
Slowly  whirl  with  me. 
And  I  am  beautiful  and  free, 
And  the  world  is  my  garden, 
For  my  growth  and  for  all  men. 

Little  poignant  joy-dreams  come  — 

(Never  to  be, 

Never  to  be); 
Some  have  lips  of  love  and  some 


FROM   ST.   JOSEPH'S  19 

Laughing  faces,  tiny  hands  — 

Such  sweet  things  bloom  in  dream-lands. 

Never  to  be, 

Never  to  be, 

But  who  shall  take  from  me 
Dream-dance  and  dream-bliss, 
Dream-clasp  and  dream-kiss ! 


20         LITTLE    GRAY   SONGS 

XII 

0  sweetest  dreams,  I  reach  to  you ! 
You  fade,  you  fail,  you  were  not  true. 

Back  from  my  lovely  dream-garden, 

1  'm  sent  to  seek  the  real  again. 

The  real  —  here  in  my  little  room 
A  red,  red  rose  of  pain  doth  bloom, 

A  red,  red  rose  of  pain  doth  glow, 
And  it  is  real  and  all  I  know. 

A  wild,  wild  poison-rose  of  pain, 
That  I  must  tend  in  vain,  in  vain. 

Whose  hand  should  plant  the  burning  rose  ? 
O  my  seared  soul  — who  knows,  who  knows  ? 


FROM    ST.    JOSEPH'S  21 

XIII 

The  Sisters  sing,  "  O  Mary  hear; 
Sweet  Mother,  intercede.'5 
But  Jesu's  mother  does  not  heed: 

She  has  been  dead  this  many  a  year. 

The  Sisters  sing,  "  O  Mary  hear, 
Thou  who  art  Motherhood."   .   .   . 
The  dumb  earth  spawns  her  struggling  brood 

To  waste,  unnumbered,  year  by  year. 


22         LITTLE    GRAY   SONGS 

XIV 

Mary,  mother  of  Christ's  body, 

I  have  no  songs  to  sing  to  thee; 

The  long,  long  years  for  thy  grief's  rack : 

Mine  eyes  turn  forward  and  not  back. 

The  long,  long  past  from  thee  to  me 
Is  full  of  mothers'  misery, 
And  griefs  of  girls  and  Stranger  Sons  — 
The  long,  long  hope  before  us  runs. 

The  incense  they  have  burned  to  thee, 
O  puzzling  strange  it  is  to  me  : 
Slaughter  of  sons  in  thy  son's  name, 
And  motherhood  turned  to  maiden's  shame. 

Mary,  mother  of  misery, 
Here  I  give  thanks  —  girl  that  I  be  — 
No  son  of  mine  shall  drain  the  cup 
That  Jesu's  hand  hath  rilled  up. 


FROM    ST.   JOSEPH'S  23 

(Here  I  give  thanks  —  girl  that  I  be  — 
O  the  young  torn  heart  of  me  ! 
Branch  at  the  window  telleth  of  Spring : 
My  body  hath  no  burgeoning.) 

O  will-less,  mute  Maternity  — 
(Mary,  mother  of  slavery). 
No  link  I  be  in  the  long,  long  chain 
Of  human  sighs  and  human  pain. 


24         LITTLE    GRAY    SONGS 

XV 

How  long  I  've  lain  below  the  Christ 
That  hangs  upon  the  wall, 

His  suffering  o'er  my  suffering : 
Was  his  indeed  for  all  ? 

Ah  me,  the  weary,  weary  hours 

So  slowly  by  us  file, 
And  not  yet  has  the  sad  Christ  learned 

As  I  have  learned  —  to  smile. 


FROM   ST.   JOSEPH'S  25 

XVI 

Four  gray  walls,  four  gray  walls, 

One  green  window-space ; 
Four  gray  walls  —  high  up  on  one 

The  crucifix  has  place. 

Four  gray  walls,  four  gray  walls, 

Ere  the  eye  can  trace, 
Past  the  high-hung  crucifix, 

The  window's  green  leaf-lace. 

"  Four  gray  walls,  four  gray  walls  — 
O  the  four-square  grayness  palls 

Of  my  prison-space  ! 
Dying  Christ  be  thanked  for 

One  green  window's  grace. 


26         LITTLE   GRAY   SONGS 

XVII 

Sister  Jerome,  Sister  Jerome, 
Come  take  my  white  hot  hands, 

For  I  would  tell  you  a  little  tale 
Of  lovely  far-off  lands. 

Sweet  my  child, 

Hark  to  the  bell 
That  bids  me  hasten  .  .  . 

What  have  you  to  tell  ? 

Sister  Jerome,  Sister  Jerome, 
'Tis  such  a  little  tale  — 

So  far  away  from  fever  — 
Just  of  a  cool  dim  vale 

Where  two  wee  winds  come  singing, 
Singing  through  the  trees  : 

O  every  night  they  come  and  sing 
Their  sweet  wind-melodies. 


FROM    ST.    JOSEPH'S  27 

They  bring  deep  breaths  of  coolness 

And  healing  summer  rain, 
And  silvery,  silvery  soft  they  fling 

It  on  the  window-pane; 

And  all  the  folks  that  hear  them 

Lie  very  still  and  sleep  j 
They  do  not  moan  and  murmur  —  no  — 

Nor  say  strange  words  and  weep ; 

For  the  little  winds  bring  coolness 

And  healing  summer  rain, 
And  then  they  softly  laugh  and  kiss 

And  turn  and  go  again. 

O  when  the  pain  beats  brightly, 
Go,  take  each  by  the  hand  — 

The  sufferers ;  bid  them  dream  the  way 
To  that  peace-flooded  land. 


28         LITTLE    GRAY    SONGS 

Dear  my  child, 

Sure  I  will  tell 
Of  the  kind  wee  winds.   .  . 

Hark  again  the  bell. 


FROM   ST.    JOSEPH'S  29 

XVIII 

The  halls  are  full  of  strangers ; 

Each  lies  alone  and  pain 

Doth  bind  each  one  with  his  red  chain. 

They  think  not  of  each  other  — 

Their  pain  looms  mountain-high  : 

It  towers  o'er  the  void  where  they  lie. 

I  Jve  longed  to  see  their  faces, 

For  then  I  might  forget 

In  what  hard  ways  my  feet  are  set. 

The  hard  ways  of  that  bondage, 
Do  they  too  know  them  all  ? 
Strangers  —  I  stumble  there  and  fall ! 


30         LITTLE   GRAY   SONGS 

XIX 

This  house  of  pain  where  we  must  dwell, 
Whose  hand  raised  high  its  towers  ? 

What  heart  to  other  hearts  did  tell 
The  woe  and  want  of  ours  ? 

It  was  the  mighty  heart  of  All ; 

It  was  the  mighty  hand 
Of  All  that  rise  and  rule  and  fall 

Within  the  mighty  land. 

How  strange  to  feel,  weak  and  alone, 

By  strength  companioned  ; 
How  strange  to  be,  though  all  unknown, 

Thus  known  and  housed  and  fed. 

But  what  are  we  to  them,  to  All, 

As  idle-ill  we  lie, 
And  eat  their  bread,  their  helpers  call, 

Nor  help  not  till  we  die  ? 


FROM    ST.   JOSEPH'S  31 

As  we  were  lolling  queens  and  kings 

In  robes  of  pain  arrayed, 
The  folk  from  far  its  tribute  brings  — 

At  our  pale  feet  't  is  laid. 

A  bed  of  pain  for  each  a  throne ; 

To  rule  in  very  deed, 
What  sceptre  should  we  call  our  own  ? 

Ah  this  —  our  utter  need. 


32         LITTLE    GRAY    SONGS 

XX 

Nay,  we  are  loads  for  them  to  lift, 
And  straws  to  show  their  current's  drift, 
And  we  are  riddles  they  must  sift, 

Even  riddles  they  must  read. 
And  we  are  signs  of  their  unthrift  — 
Ay  —  signs  of  tasks  that  they  have  left. 
They  shall  be  shriven  with  this  shrift : 

"  Go  make  their  need  your  need." 


FROM    ST.   JOSEPH'S  33 

XXI 

The  Sister  for  her  soul's  white  sake, 

The  Doctor  for  his  trade, 
Druscilla  for  the  pence  she  '11  make  — 

(Our  dreary  little  maid)  ; 

Sweet  Sister  Christopher  for  peace; 

Father  Saran  to  win 
A  seat  of  surety  and  ease 

Far  from  the  fear  of  sin. 

The  folk  that  pay  us  tithes  —  again 

'T  is  for  their  hearts'  relief, 
That  we  have  burdened  with  our  pain, 

And  wounded  with  our  grief. 

The  Sister  for  her  soul's  white  sake  — 

(I  say  it  o'er  and  o'er)  — 
So  many  are  the  ways  they  take, 

To  serve  our  needs  the  more : 


34         LITTLE   GRAY   SONGS 

So  many  are  the  ends  they  'd  make 
Through  pathway  of  our  need. 

The  smoking  flax  for  torch  they  take, 
For  crutch  —  the  bruised  reed. 


FROM   ST.   JOSEPH'S  35 

XXII 

I  hear  our  Doctor's  hard  step  by  my  door: 
He  brings  a  guest  to  look  the  sick  folk  o'er; 

For  great  men  come  his  surgeon-skill  to  see, 
To  learn  of  life  from  our  mortality. 

Who  's  here  ?  A  grizzled  man  from  overseas, 
Deep-browed,  keen-eyed  to  look  upon  disease. 

And  must  I  lie  thus  solely  for  a  show, 
That  they  may  say,  "  The  fever  fell  even  so ; 

To-morrow  it  will  rise  again, 

And  with  it  bring  the  coughing  and  the  pain  "  ? 

Is  there  no  more  for  us  than  fever-flow, 
O  deep-eyed,  aged  sir,  before  you  go  ? 


36         LITTLE    GRAY   SONGS 

Beside  this  tale  of  death,  no  living  truth, 
Between    your    towering    age,    my    stricken 
youth  ? 

I  smile  up  at  him  softly.   O  there  lies 

An  answering  smile  in  his  compassionate  eyes. 


FROM    ST.    JOSEPH'S  37 

XXIII 

There  is  a  desert  of  despair, 

Where  never  seed  was  sown  ; 
There  is  a  wilderness  called  night, 

Wherein  I  lie  alone, 
And  there  my  voice  goes  crying  forth. 

O  were  a  sound  a  star ! 
My  cry  is  all  there  is  of  light 

In  a  land  where  no  lamps  are. 


38         LITTLE    GRAY   SONGS 

XXIV 

Best  I  love  Sister  Jerome ; 
Her  arms  are  my  only  home, 

Her  strong  arms  and  the  white  bed 
Where  they  laid  my  weary  head. 

Sister  Jerome  —  how  does  she  know 
*T  is  the  heart  that  hurts  one  so  ? 

Not  the  fever,  not  the  wound, 

But  the  lone  heart,  burned  and  ground. 

Not  the  body-bruise  that  stings, 
Just  the  heart's  poor  broken  wings. 

Sister  Jerome  —  how  does  she  know? 
JT  is  not  thus  with  Sister  Otho. 

Was  her  soul  born,  say,  a  flower, 
Opening  in  her  own  birth-hour, 


FROM    ST.   JOSEPH'S  39 

Babe  and  blossom  at  one  birth  ? 
(Thus  some  souls  have  come  to  earth). 

Fair  as  ever  a  soul  should  be, 
Just  the  hue  of  sympathy  ; 

(Color  of  grief,  color  of  fear, 
Color  of  courage,  too,  and  cheer.) 

Or,  long  since  may  she  have  gone, 
Soulless,  silent,  sweet  and  wan  — 

Cold  as  Sister  Christopher  — 
Till  great  LIFE  appeared  to  her, 

Rent  her  still  heart-heaven  with  woe, 
That  the  White  Dove  might  come  through? 


40         LITTLE    GRAY   SONGS 

XXV 

0  that  it  might  be  soon  ! 

But  no  —  I  fear  the  strong  bright  sun 

1  fear  his  burning  noon. 

His  smile  's  for  ruddier  flowers  ; 
Ashamed  of  such  a  frail  pale  thing, 
He  'd  hide  away  and  showers 

Would  come  like  my  old  tears ; 
O  no,  dear  Sister,  I  must  stay, 
Lest  sunlight  turn  to  sneers. 


FROM  ST.    JOSEPH'S  41 

XXVI 

O  far  away,  O  far  away, 

Our  father  was  the  sun, 
Our  mother  was  the  unknowing  earth, 

When  day  and  night  were  one  — 
Ere  ever  hearts  had  found  them  out, 

Or  pain  his  race  begun. 

O  far  away,  O  far  away, 

Sun  set  the  little  spark 
Of  life  I  fan  with  my  faint  breath, 

Earth  made  on  me  her  mark  — 
Then  turned  her  mother-face  away, 

And  launched  me  in  the  dark. 

Across  the  dark  of  pain  and  sigh, 
Child  of  the  sun  I  've  come  ; 

Daughter  of  earth  doth  languish  here, 
An  exile  from  her  home  — 

Doth  hide  her  face  before  the  light 
Within  a  living  tomb. 


42         LITTLE    GRAY    SONGS 

But  spark  of  sun,  it^is  not  quenched 
The  fire  is  in  mine  eyes, 

And  deep  within  my  deep,  deep  soul 
Earth-stillness  ever  lies ; 

Even  light  and  silence  lie  beneath 
My  passing  pain-wrung  cries. 


FROM    ST.    JOSEPH'S  43 

XXVII 

What  say 

Bright  leaves  of  day, 

By  the  laughing  wind  caressed  ? 

"  All  young  things 

Should  dance  in  the  sun  : 
There  joy  sings 
To  every  one." 

What  say 

Sweet  flowers  of  day, 

That  strive  not,  yet  are  blest  ? 

"  All  young  things 

Should  live  in  the  sun : 
There  joy  sings 
To  every  one." 


44         LITTLE    GRAY   SONGS 

What  say 

At  shut  of  day, 

Two  bird-calls  from  the  west  ? 

"  All  young  things 

Should  love  in  the  sun : 
There  joy  sings 
To  every  one." 


FROM    ST.   JOSEPH'S  45 

XXVIII 

I  would  I  might  behold 

One  little  child 
Grow  up  with  naught  but  joy. 

O  my  heart  is  sure 
That  child  would  be  more  pure, 

More  beautiful, 

More  wonderful, 
Than  any  dream  hath  told  — 
Of  a  beauty  without  alloy. 

But  mayhap  he  would  be  too  fair, 

For  our  eyes  as  yet  too  rare   .   .   . 

For  since  the  world  with  sorrow  is  defiled, 

Even  the  Most  Beautiful 

Must  our  sorrow  share. 


46         LITTLE    GRAY   SONGS 

XXIX 

From  the  world  beyond  my  window  blind 
A  wandering  thought  drifts  down, 

And  still  within  my  fallow  mind  — 
A  seed  of  song  —  't  is  sown. 

O  urge  of  life,  thy  wind-blown  seeds. 
Strange  fruits  may  bear  unto  mens  needs » 

O  many  men  have  thought  this  thought, 

And  many  lips  have  striven 
To  utter  it,  and  hands  have  sought 

To  shape  it  as  't  was  given. 

And  some  have  builded  it  in  stone, 

With  it  some  sail  the  seas, 
And  some  have  sung  it  all  alone 

(And  I  am  one  of  these). 


FROM    ST.    JOSEPH'S  47 

And  some  have  caught  and  held  it  fast, 

Then  felt  its  need  for  flight ; 
Now  it  has  come  to  me  at  last, 

I  sing  it  through  the  night. 

I  do  but  sing  it  to  my  soul 

That  other  souls  may  know, 
And,  starless,  thus  their  dark  console — 

Then  let  it,  singing,  go. 

O  Urge  of  Life,  thy  wind-blown  seeds 
Strange  fruits  may  bear  unto  men's  needs. 


48         LITTLE    GRAY    SONGS 

XXX 

With  cassock  black,  baret  and  book, 

Father  Saran  goes  by  ; 
I  think  he  goes  to  say  a  prayer 

For  one  who  has  to  die. 

Even  so,  some  day,  Father  Saran 

May  say  a  prayer  for  me ; 
Myself  meanwhile,  the  Sister  tells, 

Should  pray  unceasingly. 

They  kneel  who  pray:  how  may  I  kneel 

Who  face  to  ceiling  lie, 
Shut  out  by  all  that  man  has  made 

From  God  who  made  the  sky  ? 

They  lift  who  pray  —  the  low  earth-born 

A  humble  heart  to  God  : 
But  O,  my  heart  of  clay  is  proud  — 

True  sister  to  the  sod. 


FROM    ST.    JOSEPH'S  49 

I  look  into  the  face  of  God, 

They  say  bends  over  me ; 
I  search  the  dark,  dark  face  of  God  — - 

O  what  is  it  I  see  ? 

I  see  —  who  lie  fast  bound,  who  may 
Not  kneel,  who  can  but  seek  — 

I  see  mine  own  face  over  me, 
With  tears  upon  its  cheek. 


5o         LITTLE    GRAY   SONGS 

XXXI 

Bidden  to  lay  my  hands  in  Grief's, 
Bidden  to  bow  my  head, 
To  follow  where  he  led : 

The  way  was  past  my  old  beliefs. 

Bidden  to  give  to  Grief  a  heart 
By  life  so  sore  bereft 
It  scarce  could  be  a  gift : 

I  kept  it  not,  nor  any  part. 

Bidden  to  offer  Grief  my  mind  .  .  . 
Foretaught  in  all  Grief's  ways, 
It  leapt  the  barrier-days 

Of  pain  !   Itself  would  forge  and  find. 


FROM    ST.    JOSEPH'S  51 

XXXII 

They  who  this  age  of  Pain  have  trod, 
Of  him  they  strove  with  made  their  god; 
But  I  who  wrestle  with  him  now 
Contend  but  to  uncrown  his  brow. 

His  brazen  cup  with  wormwood  stored, 

I  have  drained  deep,  but  ever  poured 

To  Joy  his  sacred  portion  first : 

'T  was  draught  to  him  did  quench  my  thirst. 

Thy  crown  of  thorns  though  I  must  share, 
Jesu,  it  blossoms  in  my  hair ! 
And  they  who  look  upon  my  face 
See  wreathed  roses  in  its  place. 


52         LITTLE    GRAY   SONGS 

XXXIII 

O  great  Allayer  of  our  pain, 

That  some  day  shuts  all  eyelids  down, 
Wilt  thou  come  softly,  like  the  rain, 

When  he  goes  through  to  cleanse  the  town  ? 

Wilt  thou  come  singing  with  the  wind, 
Who  shouts  and  sweeps  the  dust  away, 

And  scatters  thus  triumphantly 
The  little  hoarded  heaps  of  clay  ? 

Or  smiling  silent,  as  the  sun 

Who  ripens  ere  they  fall  to  rest, 

Earth's  flowers  and  fruits,  so  one  by  one, 
They  mellow  drop  upon  her  breast? 

O  great  Allayer  of  our  pain, 

O  sure  Encompasser  of  all 
Our  woe :  O  come  gently,  as  rain 

Doth  come ;  Let  not  thy  terrors  call. 


FROM    ST.    JOSEPH'S  53 

XXXIV 

That  day  whereon  I  die  they  '11  say, 
"  How  bright  doth  shine  the  sun  ! 

A  little  cloud  hath  flown  away, 
Its  race  with  darkness  done. 

"A  little  cloud  hath  fallen  in  tears, 

That  covered  up  the  morn  : 
See  now  the  earth  sky-beauty  wears 
And  starry  flowers  are  born. 

"  See  now  the  earth  fresh-clad,  arrayed 

In  robes  that  bear  the  rose ; 
A  little  stormy  cloud  that  strayed 
Now  homeward,  homeward  goes." 

Yea,  of  my  journey  o'er  the  skies, 
My  flight  unto  the  flowers, 

I  pray  more  beauty  shall  arise, 
I  pray  more  light  be  yours. 


54         LITTLE    GRAY   SONGS 

XXXV 

Little  Sister  Rose-Marie, 
Chosen  bride  to  Christ  she  '11  be. 
Child  —  she  says  she  sees  her  path, 
Mild  —  has  felt  God-Father's  wrath, 
Vows  her  life  forth  joyfully. 
(Visioned  unreality). 

Harken,  Sister  Rose-Marie : 
Chosen  bride  to  pain  I  be ; 
But  I  never  saw  his  face, 
And  I  never  chose  my  place, 
Nor  the  vow  that  wedded  me. 
(O  unseen  reality.) 


FROM    ST.    JOSEPH'S  55 

XXXVI 

My  life  was  too  short  for  sinning, 

For  sinning  or  for  a  shame ; 
Nor  wickedness  had  no  beginning  — 

Or  are  they  all  but  a  name  ? 

Not  even  one  little  folly 

Of  my  own  in  my  brief  day  ; 
Only  the  monstrous  folly 

Of  the  world,  which  is  not  gay. 

No  sins  there  be,  says  the  Father, 

For  which  one  is  not  forgiven. 
Then  come,  sinners,  comfort  gather  : 

One  Js  saintly  when  one  has  been  shriven  ! 

Then  had  there  been  time  to  squander 

One  little  sin  or  two, 
Just  for  wantonness  and  grandeur, 

Which  would  I  have  chosen  to  do  ? 


56         LITTLE    GRAY   SONGS 

Ah  me,  I  recall  now  the  story 
Of  a  woman  mournful  and  fair, 

A  sinner,  men  said  —  a  world-glory 

When  she  wiped  Jesu's  feet  with  her  hair ! 

Then  I  would  needs  be  forgiven, 
(Sweet  Mary  Magdala  was  such) 

O  I  too  would  ask  to  be  shriven 
For  having  loved  overmuch! 


FROM   ST.   JOSEPH'S  57 

XXXVII 

O  the  burden,  the  burden  of  love  ungiven, 
The  weight  of  laughter  unshed, 

O  heavy  caresses,  unblown  tendernesses, 
O  love-words  unsung  and  unsaid. 

O  the  burden,  the  burden  of  love  unspoken, 
The  cramp  of  silence  close-furled, 

To  lips  that  would  utter,  to  hands  that  would 

scatter 
Love's  seed  on  the  paths  of  the  world. 

O  the  heavy  burden  of  love  ungiven  : 
My  breast  doth  this  burden  bear; 

Deep  in  my  bosom  the  unblown  blossom  — 
My  world-love  that  withers  there. 


58         LITTLE    GRAY   SONGS 

XXXVIII 

This  morn  I  cried  :  "  Now  I  will  live, 
For  Spring  comes  striding  through  the  land, 
With  branch  and  blossom  in  her  hand, 
And  all  dear  gifts  that  she  doth  give." 

This  morn  I  cried  :  "  Now  I  will  live !  " 
Alas,  the  frail  bright  blossoms  fall, 
And  though  the  Spring  have  gifts  for  all, 
My  gift  of  life  she  doth  not  give. 


FROM    ST.   JOSEPH'S  59 

XXXIX 

The  Sister  wears  a  long  straight  gown 
That  hangs  in  folds  of  heavy  brown ; 
Is  it  to  teach  there  is  no  garb 
Gives  entrance  to  the  Heavenly  town  ? 

For  't  is  her  swift  feet  take  her  there, 
JT  is  her  kind  hands  that  build  it  fair, 
Nor  need  she  wait  to  tread  its  streets, 
For  it  is  neither  here  nor  there. 

I  go  up  in  my  cloak  of  pain 
And  try  the  bright  door  not  in  vain; 
I  slip  into  the  silent  squares, 
And  I  may  go  again,  again. 

'Tis  for  the  living — we  who  try 
To  learn  life  deeply  ere  we  die. 
Even  pain  who  draws  me  near  to  death 
Hath  taught  me  life  most  patiently. 


60         LITTLE   GRAY    SONGS 

Even  pain,  with  that  same  cruel  hand 
That  stripped  from  me  the  light  of  day, 
Doth  show  with  fiery  far-flung  brand 
The  hills   of  my  still  Heaven-land. 


FROM    ST.    JOSEPH'S  61 

XL 

Friend,  thy  page  says  "  Pleasure," 
Friend,  my  page  says  "  Pain." 

But  what  is  the  end  of  our  reading  ? 

O  it  is  the  same ! 
Knowledge  each  will  be  heeding. 

Friend,  thy  path  is  pleasure, 
Friend,  I  go  with  pain. 

What  is  the  end  of  our  going  ? 

O  for  each  the  same : 
Ourselves  we  shall  be  knowing. 

Friend,  thy  food  is  pleasure; 
My  bread  and  meat  are  pain. 

What  is  the  end  of  our  living  ? 
For  each,  for  each  the  same ! 
Deep  sight  it  will  be  giving. 


62         LITTLE    GRAY    SONGS 


XLI 

I  wondered,  ever  wondered, 

Till  my  full  mind  cried,  "  Take 

The  great  things  of  thy  wonderment 
And  plan  and  build  and  make." 

The  world  was  for  my  wonderment : 
O  world,  art  not  complete, 

That  such  as  I  should  plan  and  strive 
To  lay  aught  at  thy  feet  ? 

O  wonder  of  the  wide  world 

Read  first  at  Eden-gate  : 
u  Last  creatures  of  creation 

Their  final  worlds  create  !  " 


FROM   ST.   JOSEPH'S  63 

XLII 

0  I  have  made  for  myself  one  whole  happy 

day! 
Grief  did  not  steal  a  morsel  of  it  away. 

1  shut  all  the  doors  of  my  soul  to  pain  — 
He  came  and  knocked  at  my  doors  in  vain. 
And  tears,  I  flung  them  down  in  the  deep 
Sea  where  I  lulled  my  sorrow  to  sleep. 

And  my  sighs,  I  turned  them  to  doves,  all 

my  sighs, 

With  gray  breasts  and  dreaming  eyes. 
For  I  said,  "  I  will  be  mistress  of  one  perfect 

hour; 

I  will  have  peace  and  I  will  have  power ; 
And  I  will  let  the  hawks  of  my  fancy  fly 
And  measure  the  distances  in  my  soul's  sky. 
And  I  will  give  my  heart  room  — 
O  I  will  give  my  heart  room 
In  which  to  bloom." 


64         LITTLE    GRAY    S  O  N  C,  S 


All  of  an  ecstasy  in  one  gray  cell, 
(Where  all  of  a  grief  has  been  wont  to  dwell), 
All  of  a  joy,  all  of  a  bliss, 
And  I  —  I  created  this  ! 

I  made  it  out  of  a  dim  dawn  light, 

That   lapped   me  and    laved  me  and  drowned 

pursuing  night  •, 
I  made  it  out  of  a  slanting  rav 
That  touched  to  pearl  mv  prison  gray  j 
I  built  it  out  of  a  distant  bell, 
Out  of  a  young  nun's  song  at  the  well; 
I  fashioned  it  out  of  a  swaying  curtain, 
Teased  by  the  mischievous  toe  of  a  certain 
Rollicsome,  frolicsome  Zephyr  I  know  — 
He    pays    me   visits  when    the    South  winds 

blow. 
(He  and    his   sisters   are  the  wee  clowns  of 

j°y> 

Droll  little  wind-maids  and  droll  little  boy  !) 


FROM    ST.    JOSEPH'S  65 

I  made  it  out  of  Beauty's  self.  She 

Appeared  to  me. 

O  I  gathered  all  that  Beauty  gives, 
For  Beauty  lives,  O  Beauty  lives  ! 
'T  was  she  in  her  glorious  heart  gave  birth 
To  this  new  creature  —  Mirth. 

Mirth,  O  Mirth,  you  too  are  young, 
But  of  you  no  gray  songs  will  ever  be  sung. 
Teach  me,  O  teach  me  in  this  my  one  day, 
How  a  forbidden  heart  may  be  gay. 
Let  us  set  sail  for  far  coasts  in  ships 
Of  merriment.  Let  me  learn  of  your  lips 
Laughter  again.    Laughter  I  had  almost  for 
got? 

And  it  should  be  freight  of  our  fanciful  yacht ! 
And  have  you  quaint  avenues  named  of  men 

Glee  ? 

How    far    on    those   avenues   will   you   take 
me  ? 


66         LITTLE    GRAY    SONGS 

And  have  you  a  sister  and  is  her  name  Song? 
What   price  would   she  give  for  my  silver 
tongue  ? 

Teach  me  how  small  a  thing  is  the  earth, 
Teach  me  how  trivial  a  toy  it  is,  Mirth. 
And  then  could  you  teach  me  to  tether  you 

fast  ? 
"  Nay,  I  'd  escape  on  your  own  breath  at  last." 

All  of  an  ecstasy,  all  of  a  mirth, 
In  a  gray  cell  had  their  bright  birth. 
All  of  an  ecstasy  —  lived  but  a  day 
All  of  its  life.  ...   In  cells  't  is  the  way. 


FROM    ST.    JOSEPH'S  67 

XLIII 

My  dearest,  fairest  hope, 

(O  life's  full  bitter  tide) 
Had  his  Gethsemane  last  night 

On  the  lone  mountain-side. 

Then  out  upon  bare  Golgotha 
How  great  and  sure  he  died. 

At  the  right  side  of  him  and  left, 
Two  fears  were  crucified. 


68         LITTLE    GRAY    SONGS 

XLIV 

I  am  all  alone  in  my  little  room ; 

There  is  no  one  to  see  me  but  the  Gloom 
O'  the  eve  and  the  Dark  o'  the  night, 
And  the  eyes  of  my  Fears  that  affright. 
If  I  smile  there  is  no  one  to  know, 
If  I  weep  my  tears  will  not  show, 

And  others  are  lying  alone  even  so. 

There  is  no  one  to  know  save  old  Pain,  who 
will  creep 

From  cot  to  cot  when  the  dark  hours  sleep; 
He  '11  be  gathering  up  each  sigh, 
And  each  little  lone  heart-cry, 
And  every  strong  hope  that  doth  sink, 
And  each  doomed  desire,  I  think, 

To  mix  therefrom  our  common  drink. 


FROM    ST.   JOSEPH'S  69 

O  he  brews  the  draught  in  a  broken  heart, 
And  we  each  give  part  and  we  each  quaff  part, 
When  he  passes  the  cup  around 
To  the  souls  whom  he  hath  bound. 
Then  I  will  be  smiling,  O  Pain, 
When  you  give  me  the  cup  to  drain, 
That  some  who  come  after  may  smile  again. 


70         LITTLE    GRAY    SONGS 

XLV 

O  Jesu,  how  my  soul  goes  forth 
To  be  a  friend  to  thee, 

Who  had  no  friend  to  know  thyself, 
Who  ever  walked  lonely ; 

And  whom  the  ages  lonelier  make, 

Upon  thy  lifted  tree. 
O  Jesu  how  my  soul  goes  forth 

To  be  a  friend  to  thee. 


FROM    ST.    JOSEPH'S  71 

XLVI 

Came  one  who  told  of  Death's  white  steeds, 
And  of  far  goal  on  goal, 
Where  the  ne'er-ceasing  soul 

O'ertakes  new  hopes,  new  needs. 

O  speak  not  of  such  after-quest ; 
Hint  not  of  journeyings, 
As  they  were  joyful  things  — 

My  little  soul  would  rest. 

The  anguished  leagues  that  it  has  gone  — 

The  path  of  pain  each  day : 

Alas,  how  long  the  way 
From  dawn  to  dark — and  dawn! 

O  Death  may  drive  his  steeds  away, 

My  little  soul  would  sleep ; 

My  body  would  lie  deep, 
Nor  journey  on  that  day. 


72         LITTLE   GRAY   SONGS 

XLVII 

My  little  soul  I  never  saw, 
Nor  can  I  count  its  days  ; 

I  do  not  know  its  wondrous  law 
And  yet  I  know  its  ways. 

O  it  is  young  as  morning-hours, 

And  old  as  is  the  night; 
O  it  has  growth  of  budding  flowers, 

Yet  tastes  my  body's  blight. 

And  it  is  silent  and  apart, 
And  far  and  fair  and  still, 

Yet  ever  beats  within  my  heart, 
And  cries  within  my  will. 

And  it  is  light  and  bright  and  strange, 

And  sees  life  far  away, 
Yet  far  with  near  can  interchange 

And  dwell  within  the  day. 


FROM    ST.    JOSEPH'S  73 

My  soul  has  died  a  thousand  deaths, 

And  yet  it  does  not  die; 
My  soul  has  broke  a  thousand  faiths, 

And  yet  it  cannot  lie; 

My  soul  —  there's  naught  can  make  it  less; 

My  soul  —  there  's  naught  can  mar ; 
Yet  here  it  weeps  with  loneliness 

Within  its  lonely  star. 

My  soul  —  not  any  dark  can  bind, 

Nor  hinder  any  hand, 
Yet  here  it  weeps  —  long  blind,  long  blind  — 

And  cannot  understand. 


74         LITTLE    GRAY    SONGS 

XLVIII 

But  if  my  star  of  joy  should  call  — 

A  call  as  stars  may  give  — 
"  Awake,  O  slumbering  little  soul, 
Awake,  arise,  and  live ! " 

How  would  a  soul  reach  out  to  life 
From  silence  and  the  tomb; 

How  would  a  soul  unfold  to  light 
And  up  through  darkness  bloom ! 

How  would  a  laughing  soul  scale  Heaven 

And  star  on  star  let  fall, 
If  o'er  the  death-song  of  the  worlds 

My  star  of  joy  should  call ! 


FROM    ST.    JOSEPH'S  75 

XLIX 

Out  of  my  little  prison-cell 

I  send  white  thoughts  and  bid  them  tell 

My  message  to  my  kind. 
The  singing  wind  can  bear  it  best, 
For  song  it  should  be  —  glad  song,  blest 

To  beauty  by  the  wind. 

O  white  thoughts,  this  it  is  ye  mean  : 
u  We,  born  in  pain  have  breathed  and  been 

Nurtured  of  suffering; 
Have  heard  all  silence,  lost  all  light, 
Have  touched  the  unknown  Infinite 

Of  fear;  and  still  we  sing: 

"  c  Night  holds  a  holy  mystery 

Of  life ;  red  pain  is  wine,  and  we 
Have  drunk  so  deep  thereof 


;6         LITTLE    GRAY    SONGS 

That  we  are  strangely  healed  of  fear, 
Strong  even  through  weakness,  new-born, 

near 
The  inner  founts  of  love.* 

u  O  we  knew  nothing  of  the  way 
When  pain  became  our  guide  that  day  — 

We  assailed  him  with  our  fears ; 
But  out  upon  the  weary  road, 
Bearing  his  load,  we  learned  the  load 

Was  lighter  than  our  fears. 

"  And  kinder  than  our  cries  was  pain, 
And  whiter  than  our  dream  his  stain. 

And  fairer  and  more  free 
Cell-walls  than  world-walls,  though  world 
wide, 

If  love  unshackled,  hope  close-tied, 
Joy  unconceived  be. 


FROM    ST.   JOSEPH'S  77 

"Lo,  this  was  granted  unto  us  : 
We  know  not  if  all  men  learn  thus 
From  suffering." 

O  wind, 

Out  of  my  little  prison-cell 
Take  my  white  thoughts  and  let  them  tell 
My  message  to  my  kind. 


O  star  of  joy, 

Thou  that  dost  whitely  bloom 
In  the  darkest  fields  of  doom, 

O  star  of  joy, 

The  deep  pooh  of  mine  eyes 

Meet  thee,  greet  thee,  mirror-wise. 

O  star,  my  star, 

I  hold  them,  joyless,  up  to  thee, 

For  thee  to  fathom,  thee  to  fill, 

Thou  white  beauty. 

O  star  of  joy, 

My  lonely,  longing  heart 

Found  thee  where  thou  eternal  art, 

Joy  of  all  joys, 

That  dwellest  past  the  bound 
Where  any  grief  may  go  his  round, 

Light  of  all  light  — 

My  darkened  life  I  lift  to  thee, 
For  thee  to  kindle,  thee  to  fill, 
O  white  beauty. 


CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
U    .    S    .    A 


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